


A Second to Breathe

by phoenixprentiss



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Day Off, Gen, House Cleaning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:03:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22533685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixprentiss/pseuds/phoenixprentiss
Summary: Emily finally has a couple of days off, but isn't so much prepared for what she comes across after getting down to spring cleaning.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	A Second to Breathe

As unit chief, it was rare that Emily Prentiss had a couple of days off from work. Occasionally, however, she would remember the words of her predecessor, knowing that Hotch was always insistent that every member took time off when they needed it. Now, with several days to herself, Emily was ready to tackle her ever-growing mental list of things she needed to do when she had time off. At the very top, and what she decided to start with on this quiet Saturday morning, was a little bit of spring cleaning.

She still had a couple of unpacked boxes still leftover from when she moved out of her last apartment. These sat in the very back of her closet; a project, she always told herself, for another day. _Well now is that other day,_ she thought as she shoved her hanging clothes to the side in order to retrieve the pile of moving boxes. She lugged each one—there were only a few—to the living room, and sighed as she sat down on the floor in front of one of them, slicing open the tape with scissors and folding back the flaps to see what was inside. In all honesty, she had completely forgotten what was in these boxes. Maybe she would find the red sweater she thought she had lost years ago—or maybe JJ had just never returned that after Emily lent it to her. But the more likely story was that the boxes contained useless crap, just needing to be taken somewhere and donated.

The first box held its fair share of useless crap: clothes that she knew would no longer fit, books Spence had given her that she swore she would someday read, and a couple of old cell phones. No red sweater, of course.

She figured it was probably best to deal with one box at a time, rather than unload all of them and later be surrounded by things she didn’t know what to do with. _Alright,_ she thought, _let’s see if these phones have any power left or anything._ Neither of them turned on right away, which made sense because they had been sitting in her closet for years, but she wasn’t about to just give up and get rid of them.

Emily got up from the ground, taking the cellphones with her to the kitchen in order to rummage through her drawer that was not full of junk, as others might say, but perfectly useful things. Shoved in the back somewhere, she knew, were old charging cables that she couldn’t bear to throw away just in case she might need them again sometime. She was right.

Plugging each phone in, she left them for a little bit, and went back to figure out what to do with the clothes and books. Donating the clothes would be easy, but the books she would have to find room for on her shelves. Even though she still probably never read them. When she returned to the phones, one remained completely dead. The other powered on.

Since it was an old, non-smart phone, there wasn’t much she could do with it besides making calls. She probably hadn’t even used this phone in nearly ten years. To her surprise, though, there was an old voicemail, from around 2011. Without thinking, she turned up the volume and played the message out loud.

_“Hey, it’s me. Hotch asked me to try all your numbers, and I have this as an old listing, and you probably don't even use it anymore, but if it is you and you're out there…”_

Penelope’s voice filled the room, but Emily didn’t hear the latter half of the message. Instead, she set the phone back down on the counter and slowly walked backwards until the kitchen cabinets behind her stopped her. Slowly, she slid her back down until she was sitting on the kitchen floor with her knees pulled up to her chest. No tears came; after all, it’s been nine years, but her mind was racing. _Nine years._ How did that happen?

At this point in time, it’s not like she has forgotten. No, that would never happen. But she’s reached that point in time where she can healthily address those events by thinking about Declan. How he’s thriving, and he’s all grown up, probably at least in college by now, and that that part of everything worked out okay in the end. That’s what matters, is the end. It’s all over now, and it has been nearly ten years.

But just because a tattoo can cover up a brand doesn’t mean you can’t still feel the brand. That part of her skin has been healed for years but she can still feel it, and JJ’s advice didn’t so much work out as planned. Funny how you can go through life, feeling fine, thinking maybe you’ve moved past all of your demons, until something like this comes along to remind you. _Oh, Penelope…_ She thought, leaning her head back against the cabinet and closing her eyes. _I love you so much._

She had hated the hiding. The secrets. Sitting in the SCIF when Doyle’s name was revealed and having to act surprised. Snapping at Penelope, who deserved it the least out of anyone. But they were her family. She had to leave them, and even though things worked out horribly, she never regretted going after Doyle on her own. She did what had to be done, and nothing could change that now.

She _actually. died._ Sometimes those words sent a shock through her. It seemed so heavy, so serious. The last time she’d thought about that was when…

When Scratch abducted her from the SUVs after they crashed. Knowing that when he was drugging her into thinking she was dead, it wasn’t real. Because she knew what the real thing felt like, if only for a moment.

Two years, now, had it been? Since Scratch. He captivated the team’s attention and resources for three years and has been dead for two. God, how the hell does time keep passing like this? She’d never grieved for what had happened to her, making it seem like her traumas almost kept stacking up on top of each other without time for her to catch up with the last one. Maybe that’s just who she is now— that her expertise when it came to compartmentalizing caused her to grow resilient when it came to literally anything. But what did it mean if she was _still_ compartmentalizing every single thing that happened to her?

Maybe that’s just their line of work. It’s so goddamn non-stop all the time that there’s never a chance to pause, to take a break, to catch up with what they deal with every day. Even now, on her short break, she’s doing what? More work to catch up with what she’s let slide as a result of the demands of her position. When the hell would she ever catch a break? A real one?

Still on the kitchen floor, Emily took a deep breath and forced herself to let her body relax. Loosened her shoulders, stretched out her legs. She held so much tension in her body in the air of professionalism. She didn’t know how the hell Hotch did it and raised a son at the same time. She could hardly find a moment to herself. Suddenly, she didn’t blame Hotch for leaving.

Now, she didn’t know what to do. Delete the voicemail? It didn’t really seem like there was any reason to keep it. She didn’t want to listen to it ever again. Maybe she should just chuck the whole thing in the trash. It couldn’t be donated, and it didn’t seem worth the effort to find some place where she could recycle old cell phones. She knew she should but she also just didn’t have the time. How typical.

Abruptly, she decided. She deleted Penelope’s message. It was from the past, and it was okay to leave it there. She unplugged each phone with their chargers and took them back to the box in her living room. She wrapped each cord around its respective device and stacked them back in on top of the books, refolding the clothing, finding tape in her drawer and resealing the box. Back into her closet it went.

There would be time. Plenty of it, later. Another day. She would do this again, and it would be okay.

For now, she wanted a break. A second to breathe. God knows she deserved it.

**Author's Note:**

> All of this is my own work except CBS owns the quote from 6x18 "Lauren".


End file.
